


1,000 Words

by Kamaro0917



Series: Second Chances and Bonus Scenes [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, F/F, Fleurmione child(ren), I think I delivered., I was challenged to do angst, It’s more bittersweet tbh., What Was I Thinking?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:40:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28546497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kamaro0917/pseuds/Kamaro0917
Summary: They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but as I stare at the framed image in my hands, all I can think is ‘only one thousand?’
Relationships: Fleur Delacour/Hermione Granger
Series: Second Chances and Bonus Scenes [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1816891
Comments: 15
Kudos: 96





	1,000 Words

**Author's Note:**

> I thought I’d try something new... I don’t usually write this POV... well, I hope it worked. Also, if you haven’t read SC, then the OCs might be confusing.

They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but as I stare at the framed image in my hands, all I can think is ‘only one thousand?’

I found the picture while going through old storage boxes, hidden among trinkets and dusty knick-knacks. The leather photo album was filled with a lifetime of memories, but for some reason this particular image resonated with me. It’s an innocent scene, yet I felt like an interloper intruding upon a private moment shared between two people. 

Still, I’ve looked at the image countless times over the past few days, and each time my heart swells and tears prick at the corners of my eyes. I can’t help myself. It reminds me of a simpler time, when the future was a blank canvas with endless possibilities ripe for the taking. 

I’m not the most sentimental, but I allow myself this rare moment of nostalgia. 

My fingertips trace the familiar figures, fondly following their movements as they repeat the same loop. It must be exhausting to relive the same thirty seconds over and over, but I know that if I could ask them, the two would say they never get tired of it. Why would they? Being with the one you love forever doesn’t really seem like a punishment. 

The two women sit under a large oak tree on a grassy hill with a picnic basket next to them, its contents strewn across a checkered blanket. It’s summer. I can tell by the blooming wildflowers. A few puffy clouds move lazily across the vast blue sky, casting shadows across the patchwork of farmlands in the distance. Classic French countryside. 

The brunette laughs at an unheard joke, the corners of her soulful brown eyes crinkle as she throws her head back. _What I wouldn’t give to hear that laugh one more time._ Her rich auburn curls, pulled back in a loose braid, drape over her shoulder while a few wispy flyaways - remnants of a disastrous experiment with bangs - frame her face.

The blonde woman sitting next to her smiles broadly and wraps an arm around her slim shoulders, stealing a chaste on the cheek as she hugs her companion close. They fit together like two pieces of a puzzle and the brunette settles in, leaning against the other woman’s shoulder. Her fingers trace lazy patterns on a jean-clad thigh, and I can tell the blonde is stifling a ticklish giggle.

The wind must have picked up, blowing the loose strands of platinum silk into the brunette’s face, which causes her to laugh even harder. Her cheeks flush bright and she hastily wipes away mirthful tears before collapsing onto the blanket. 

The blonde says something, but the angle of her head prevents me from seeing the exchange. _Oh well, everyone is allowed their secrets._

Whatever it was seems to please the younger woman. She reaches up and playfully tugs the lapels of the blonde’s grey blazer, pulling her down for a quick kiss. The other is all too happy to oblige, propped up on a fist as she gazes down; her icy sapphires full of reverence. Slender fingers reach up to trace the curve of the brunette’s jaw, stroking the skin as if it was a priceless work of art. 

They stare at each other for a few beats before the brunette sits back up, as does her companion, straightening out her cream and burgundy floral sundress. The couple turns and waves at the camera before settling back into a relaxed pose. The brunette’s head once again comes to rest on the blonde’s shoulder. 

The taller woman rests one arm on her bent knee while straightening the other behind her body to support their weight. Blue eyes slip shut as she nuzzles her cheek against her wife’s forehead. 

“Je t’aime, ‘Ermione.” I’m no expert at reading lips, but that one I recognize. 

And then the scene resets.

It’s so simple, but I could watch this for hours and not get bored. 

I think it’s refreshing to see people taking time for themselves. So often we get swept up in the daily grind, going through the motions and forgetting to live. We take things for granted and forget to appreciate what is right in front of us. I know I could take a page out of their book every now and then. In some ways I envy them and their ability to love and dream with reckless abandon. 

At this moment they don’t have a care in the world. Nothing exists outside of their little bubble. It’s a rare moment of peace and honestly, I can’t think of anyone more deserving

I’ve heard the stories; the real ones, not the white lies and half truths. I’m one of a small handful who can claim this honor. I know they never asked for glory or recognition for their deeds, but I’m filled with pride when I think of what they accomplished. Without their bravery, the war against Voldemort would have been lost. Twice. 

A soft hand on my shoulder brings me back to present and I reluctantly tear my eyes up from the moving image. I blink a few times as my eyes come back into focus. I was so lost in my thoughts that it takes a moment to register my surroundings. 

“Come on, Aurelia, it’s time to go.” 

Evangeline has been standing silently beside me, content to give me time for my jaunt down memory lane. She got grandmere’s patience, whereas I inherited Maman’s fiery demeanor and Mum’s sharp tongue, but even she has limits. 

Without another word she slips her hand in mine, gently tugging. 

I nod my assent and set the framed picture down on the cold marble surface. The figures smile and wave up at us.

“Goodbye, Maman. Please say ‘hi’ to Mum for us,” I mumble and follow my sister’s lead, turning away from the freshly tilled earth. 

The grass will grow in soon to match the green mound next to it. 

**Author's Note:**

> You can thank the Fleurmione server for this...


End file.
